


Return to the Wall

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aliens have the team headed to "The Wall."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return to the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #10 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"_ Everyone _is a potential target."_

 

           Norton watched the undulating patterns of the incoming alien transmissions, automatically reaching for the phone buzzer.  "Colonel, we've got activity."

          "On my way, Norton," was the reply.

          Drake was still busy at the keyboard when Ironhorse and Blackwood pounded down the stairs to join him.  They moved to take up positions, leaning over his shoulders.

          "What's up?" Harrison asked, recognizing the patterns as standard alien communications signals.

          "Don't know, Doc… just got a fresh set of transmissions… longer than most… in… Washington DC."  He straightened.  "Well, that's a new one."

          Ironhorse stepped away and grabbed the phone, punching out a complicated numerical sequence.  There was a pause, then he spoke.  "Code forty-seven, level three, authorization ten.  Colonel Ironhorse for General Wilson.  Priority Alpha-one."

          "Aren't you jumping the gun, Paul?" Harrison questioned, walking over to pour himself and the colonel a cup of coffee.

          Ironhorse ignored the comment.  "General, Mr. Drake is picking up alien transmissions originating in DC…  No, sir, we don't have an exact location at this time… Yes, sir.  I will."

          Returning the handset to its cradle, Ironhorse accepted the proffered coffee from Blackwood.  "This just alerts them to any possible danger, Harrison.  Let's them kick up the security.  It's just a precaution."

          "Good thing, too," Norton said, "because from what I can tell, that transmission came from somewhere on the Mall."

          "Too close to home for me," Blackwood said.  "What do we do?"

          Ironhorse thought for a moment.  "Norton, run a check.  See if there's been anything reported that might suggest the aliens are involved."

          "A hunch, Colonel?" Blackwood asked.

          "I don't know, but I don't like the fact that Suzanne's there, and so are the aliens.  Keep me informed," Ironhorse told Norton, already heading for the stairs.  "Ten minutes, Blackwood, then meet me outside.  We're flying east."

          "I'm already there, Colonel."

          "Be careful!" Norton called after them, then turned to begin the search.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 

"The preparations are proceeding according to schedule, Advocates."

          The triumvirate turned in unison form the bank of television monitors to address the Park Ranger who stood below them, trying not to look smug.

          "So all will be ready at the appointed time?" the female asked.

          "Yes, Advocate."

          "Good," the elder male replied, smug satisfaction in his voice.  "For once our field agents have performed without flaw."

          "It is still too early to judge, Comrade," the younger male cautioned.

          The ranger's head dropped.  "It will be as you have ordered, Advocate," he countered.  "The gas is nearly ready, and we have checked the location.  All is proceeding as you ordered."

          "See to it that does not change," the female threatened.  "We have waited too long for this day.  With the government preoccupied with the death of its President, we will have no trouble infiltrating their most powerful government offices."

          "And once we are there, we will be able to locate our warships," the younger male concluded.

          "Then this planet will be ours."

          "It will be as you command, Advocates."

          "To life immortal."

          "To life, immortal," the ranger echoed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blackwood sat back in his comfortable swivel chair, admiring the small but plush military transport jet.  There were times saving the worlds from aliens had its perks, but he was usually too keyed to notice.  Clouds streaked by outside the windows.  Given the speed of the small aircraft, he guessed they would reach Washington DC before dinner.  He looked over at Ironhorse, who was still on the phone, talking to Norton.

          The soldier finished, returning to his seat across from Blackwood.  "Norton got hold of Suzanne.  She and Debi are fine, and they haven't seen or heard anything out of the ordinary.  He hasn't been able to narrow down the transmission to a specific location on the Mall, but at least they're still broadcasting.  Any idea what they're up to?"

          Harrison shook his head, then leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles.  "Norton didn't find anything, and I can't imagine what they'd find interesting on the Mall… unless they're on vacation."

          Ironhorse snorted.  "Not likely."

          "No, that would be too easy," Blackwood said, then turned more serious.  "I guess we'll just have to wait until we get there and hope they've left us some kind of clue."

          "I have men on the grounds now, but they haven't detected any unusual activity or physical evidence."

Harrison titled his head back, resting it against the chair, his fingers steepled and tapping over his chest.  "What could they be planning?"

          "I don't know, but whatever it is, I'm _not_ going to like it."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          They found Suzanne waiting for them at the small suburban safe house the military had assigned them.  "Good flight?" she asked as Harrison came in, carrying the laptop computer and gadget box.

          "It was comfortable and quick," Harrison told her.  "Ironhorse— Where's Debi?"

          "Staying with her cousins," Suzanne said, reaching out to take the laptop.  "I just didn't have the heart to take her away from all that peer bonding.  Stein and Alvarez stayed behind for security."

          "I'm sure that will make the Colonel proud."

          Ironhorse came in carrying their luggage, followed by several Omegans with more equipment.  "What will make me—?"  He looked up, surprised to see Suzanne.  "You didn't have interrupt your vacation, Doctor."

          "Paul, it didn't feel like a vacation once I found out the aliens were on the move.  Believe me, I'd rather be here."

          The colonel nodded.  "Why don't you two get things set up in here and secure a line to Norton.  I'm going to check the perimeter security."

          "Will do, Colonel," Harrison said.

          Ironhorse disappeared down the hall, depositing the luggage in the small bedrooms, then returned to collect the waiting Omegans and leave.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The perimeter check finished, Ironhorse and Derriman made their way back to the small condo.  Nestled into one corner of a large subdivision that housed federal agents, diplomats and several general officers who worked at the Pentagon, the safe house was a secured location without the improvements the Omegans added.  They would not have to worry about any unwanted intruders.

          "Sergeant, I expected you to stay with Debi."

          Derriman grinned.  "Thought about it, sir," the older man replied.  "You know I don't like being a movin' target, but I was hopin' the aliens would pack up and go home and make this a false alarm.  I was hopin' I might get a chance to drop in for the anniversary."

          "Anniversary?"

          Derriman's eyes widened.  "You've been workin' too hard…  The Wall, Colonel, this'll be the tenth—"

          "Anniversary of the dedication," Ironhorse finished.  "Damn."  He shook his head, silently berating himself for not remembering.  He reached out and slapped the sergeant on the back.  "If we're lucky, we'll _both_ get to go."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Nada, Doc," Norton said over the speaker phone.  "I still haven't found anything on the crime network that looks like the aliens might be involved.  And they've been maintaining radio silence for the past four hours.  Maybe this is a false alarm."

          "Maybe," Blackwood agreed from his chair.  "But it doesn't _feel_ like one, Norton."

          Ironhorse leaned forward on the couch.  "What about this scenario…  The aliens haven't done anything, yet, but they're here to set something up."

          "Like?" Suzanne asked, walking over to sit at the other end of the couch.

          "Like something at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial anniversary re-dedication.  To be held on the Mall over Veterans Day."

          Blackwood's eyes widened.  "But what could they want there?"

          Ironhorse shook his head.  "I don't know."

          Harrison stood and paced off several steps.  "Norton, check that, and look for any other activities that might be planned over the next few days.  Maybe there's a convention coming up with people the aliens might be interested in."

          "Okay, I'll run a check and get back to you."

          Suzanne leaned forward and depressed the speaker button, disconnecting the connection.  "What now?"

          "We wait," Ironhorse replied.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Advocates, we have had a report from our field agents."

          "Not trouble, I hope," the female almost groaned.

          The envoy shook his head, his Smokey Bear hat jiggling.  "No, Advocate.  Everything is prepared.  They are ready to act at the appointed time."

          "Well done, Envoy," the elder male congratulated.  "You will be amply rewarded when the mission succeeds."

          "And succeed it will," the younger male said.  "Or you will shoulder the burden of failure."

          "Yes, Advocate," the ranger said.  "We will not fail."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The phone rang, and Suzanne picked it up.  "Just a second, Norton, I'll put you on the speaker…  Okay."

          "Talk to me, oh computer genius," Harrison said, stalking over from the window.

          "I think the big guy hit it right on.  I ran a check and there are _no_ events scheduled for the Mall, _except_ the re-dedication of the Memorial the day after tomorrow.  The next event is three weeks away."

          "That has to be it then," Suzanne said.  "But why?  What could they want, or do?"

"Okay," Blackwood said, sitting down and grabbing up a pad of paper lying on the coffee table.  He flipped back the sheet Ironhorse had been doodling on earlier and snatched a pen from his pocket.  "What will this entail, Colonel?"

          Paul leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees.  "Okay, there's the Wall itself—"

          "And it's symbolic value," Suzanne added.

          Paul nodded.  "If this is like the '82 dedication, there'll be large crowds, speakers, bands… unit get-togethers… church services… a parade…"

          "The people," Harrison cut in.  "It has to be the people."

          "Why, Doc?" Norton asked.  "It's not like they're going to recruit an Army."

          Ironhorse and Harrison both looked surprised, then frightened.  Their gazes met.  "What if they are?" Blackwood asked in a strangled whisper.  "What if they've developed a new drug or something?"

          "You're thinking Chicago, Harrison.  They don't repeat the same projects," Suzanne countered.

          "But if it's something _like_ that…" Paul said, trailing off.  "They do use similar methods and techniques.  And there'll be thousands of ex-military and current military personnel there.  Just the scope of the collective knowledge available is staggering."

          "An army," Suzanne said softly.

          "That still doesn't tell us why," Norton said.

          "It doesn't matter, Norton," Ironhorse said.  "We have to assume the worst.  That they're out to use those men and women against us somehow."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse walked along the Mall from the Washington Monument, heading toward Constitution Gardens and the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.  An early morning haze had left everything slightly grey and fuzzy, but with a promise of the cloud cover burning off later in the day.  There was no one there yet, just an occasional jogger, the birds, and several Special Forces teams.

          As he proceeded along, the colonel heard clicks in his radio earplug, telling him that the mixed Omega and Delta Force soldiers were in position and waiting.  Scattered across the acreage, they would filter the spectators as best they could as before they entered the Mall, and again just before they reached the Constitution Gardens area.

          It was a long walk, and the colonel's gut knotted tighter with each step.  He had been there in 1982 when the Memorial was first dedicated, the sights, sounds, and smells a permanent memory.  The raw emotional power that charged the air a decade ago was unlike anything he had ever experienced.  It was a preternatural grieving, and it had sucked him in along with everyone else.

He came up over a small rise and slowed, looking at the three bronze servicemen who stood in a thicket of bear trees.  Leaves were caught in the metal folds of their tropical uniforms, fluttering slightly in the breeze.  Their faces were familiar, composites of thousands of other young men who endured the hell that was Vietnam.

          Below was the national tombstone for the ones who hadn't made it home.  The green landscape appeared to have sheared on a V-shaped fault, revealing the black granite wall.  In front of the polished surface tiny flags were stuck in the ground, their edges waving in the damp breeze.  There were wreaths, flowers, snapshots, religious articles, and military mementos left by visitors.  He had brought his share of artifacts to leave on that alter of courage and sacrifice.

          Duty.  Honor.  County.  It was a simple motto, but wrapped up in the words were feelings and experiences that he couldn't begin to explain to someone who hadn't been there, hadn't seen the things he had, touched, tasted, smelled, _lived_ what he had, and now he was in the middle of another war, one that threatened to desecrate this place.  He wondered briefly how he and his men would be remembered when this latest war was over.

          Ironhorse continued down the gentle slope to the cobble-stone lined path that paralleled the Wall.  Proceeding along, the panels of names grew until they towered above him – 58,176 names, stretching as far as he could see in either direction.  The clicks continued, and he filed them away without conscious thought.

          Nothing ever prepared him for a visit to the site; no matter how many times he came there was always the same surge of emotion and feeling – the knowledge that he had entered a sacred place.  Without thinking, he read the names at eye-level as he passed.  The lists were chronological, not alphabetical.  Those who died together in battle were listed together, remembered together.  When he saw the first name that he recognized the clipped pace slowed.

          He paused, staring.  These names belonged to men he had led in battle; men who died in his arms; men he came to love like brothers; and men killed before he had the opportunity to know them.  He ran a fingertip over the dew-damp granite, reflecting on the thrills and horrors they had shared two decades earlier.  One collection of letters in the mass of names caught his attention.

          He gently brushed the dampness away, droplets running down the stone surface like tears.  Craig A. Windjoy.

          "Colonel?"

          Derriman paused, knowing the soldier was lost in the polished black granite, and in his feelings.

          "Sir?"

          Ironhorse pulled his gaze away and met the sergeant's.  "Yes?"

          "Everyone's in place, sir.  The coordinators have been briefed on the possibility of a… terrorist action.  I think we'll have their full cooperation.  Mr. Scruggs has been very helpful with providing the itinerary and last minute changes."

          Ironhorse's eyes narrowed, noting the hard lines of worry set at the corners of the NCO's eyes.  "What is it, John?"

          Derriman looked pale.  "One of the changes, Colonel, the President's plannin' on speakin'."

          "Shit," Ironhorse breathed.  "Get General Wilson on a secured line.  We have to see if we can't get the President to cancel."

          "Yes, sir."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "But, General, I cannot guarantee his safety," Ironhorse argued into the phone.

          "I know that, Paul," Wilson replied on the other end.  "But he's adamant.  He needs to build a rapport with the military community and he sees this as a way to do it.  Secret Service Security will be tripled, but there's nothing else I can do."

          "Then that will have to do, sir.  We still have no idea what they might try."

          "At least we have an idea of when and where.  Do your best, Colonel."

          "Yes, sir."

          "I have troops on standby if you need them.  Good luck."

          "Thank you, sir."

          Ironhorse folded the lookalike cellular phone up and handed it back to Derriman, who returned the pocket-sized transceiver for their satellite communications system to his belt pouch.

          "He won't change his mind?" Suzanne asked.

          "Not a chance, but he's agreed to triple Secret Service security."

          Harrison shook his head.  "That might not be enough."

          "Tell me about it, Doctor."

          Coleman trotted up to join them, her casual jeans, T-shirt and blazer looking fashionable, but unassuming.  "Sir, everyone's in position, and the crowds are starting to roll in."

          "Geiger counters and heat detectors?" the colonel asked.

          "In place along the bleachers and at the speaker's stand and podium.  We also laid a series along all the major pathways leading into the Mall and Constitution Gardens.  People are on the high ground, sweeping the crowd with detectors as well.  Locating them is still going to be iffy."

          There was a beep in his ear and Ironhorse spoke into his lip mike.  "Ironhorse."

          "Colonel, we have a boogy sighted," Stavrakos said.  "At the servicemen's memorial."

          "Affirmative.  Terminate boogy, we're on the way."

          "Roger."

          Ironhorse looked to Harrison and Suzanne.  "We found our first one."

          "Let's go," Blackwood said.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Stavrakos met them, dressed in jeans, white T-shirt and a black leather jacket.  He led them off several yards into the trees, where a Delta Force soldier guarded two small twenty gallon barrels.

          "Cleanup's already done, sir," Stavrakos said.

          "Good work, Sergeant."

          "How was he dressed?" Blackwood asked.

          "Parks department uniform.  I passed the word, we're checking everyone in uniform," the sergeant replied, then opened a second barrel and motioned for them to look inside.  "He was carrying these."

          The three Project members looked.  Suzanne squatting down for a better view at the two large glass test tubes.  The contents of one were a slightly opaque green, much like the fluid she had found at Dr. VonDeer's lab.  The other, however, was a thick muddy brown.

          She looked up at Ironhorse.  "I should take these and—"

          Another beep.

          "Go ahead."

          "Sir, we have another boogy spotted just entering Constitution Gardens," Goodson reported.  "He's in a Parks Department uniform."

          "Terminate immediately," Ironhorse said, "but be careful.  He might be carrying a pair of glass test tubes and we don't want the contents spilled."

          "Roger."

          "I should get these to a lab," Suzanne finished.

          Ironhorse nodded.  "Sergeant," he said to Coleman, "Have a three-man detail escort Dr. McCullough and the test tubes to the GeneTech Laboratories.  Then pass the word about the chemicals.  We don't want any innocents exposed to whatever this stuff is."

          "Yes, sir," Stavrakos said.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The advocate moved to join his companions at the bank of television screens.  "We have an incoming transmission from the field," the younger male stated.

          "Is there trouble?" the female asked.

          "It appears so."

          "It was inevitable," she hissed.  "The lower classes cannot do anything right."  The three moved to the makeshift receiver.  "We are listening," the female stated.

          "Advocates, there are some among the humans who know who we are.  They are hunting us down and killing us."

          " _How_ do they know?" the elder male demanded.

          "I do not know, Advocate.  Perhaps it was not wise to use the bodies of these park rangers.  They make us easy to be seen, and the humans are continually interfering, asking us questions and directions."

"Then shed those bodies and acquire new host bodies.  You cannot fail.  Nine of you _must_ survive to release the gas.  It will not work unless the appropriate amount released," the female commanded.

          "Do not forget the reward for failure," the younger male threatened.

          "Yes, Advocate, we will find new host bodies.  To life, immortal."

          "To life immortal," the triumvirate replied.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Over the next forty minutes, the combined Omega and Delta teams removed twelve more aliens, all wearing Parks Department uniforms.  Rumors were starting to circulate through the crowd about weird goings-on, but their activity remained covert.  Ironhorse silently thanked the powers that be who decided to train the Special Forces men to work in crowded areas without detection.

          "Sir, we've located another six, we're on it."

          Ironhorse listened to the ongoing hunt over his pocket radio.  So far, so good.  If they could just keep it low key and make sure they avoided the press they might get through this with their secret intact.  They started a story circulating about eco-terrorists dumping goo in an attempt to embarrass the President for not acting quicker on environmental issue.  It was working.  The weird activity was ignored, and the teams knew how to make things look normal, even if they were not.

          They were keeping the aliens from actually getting into the crowds around the Memorial, but it was just a matter of time before one or more slipped through.  And no word from Suzanne on what the chemicals were.  There was nothing to do but keep going like they were.  He would _not_ let them desecrate the Memorial.

          "How are we doing?" Blackwood asked.

          "I wish I knew," Ironhorse said.  "The President will be here in less than two hours—"

          "Sir," Coleman's voice fill his ear.  "We've found another one, but it was in the body of an older white male.  Just a visitor, I think."

          "Damn it," the colonel breathed, more casualties of war.  "Affirmative, Sergeant.  Pass the words.  _Everyone_ is a potential target."

          "Roger."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Suzanne jogged over to join Harrison and Ironhorse, her three-man guard sticking on her heels.

          "Suzanne?" Blackwood asked.  "What's wrong?"

          "It's bad," she said, her hand coming up to rest on her chest as she tried to catch her breath.  "I can't isolate it, but the chemical compound produced by exposing the contents of the two test tubes _is_ similar in structure to what they were using in Chicago, but this doesn't have to be ingested or injected, just inhaled.  I'm not sure what the consequences of exposure are, but given what we saw there…"

          "If a crowd of ex and current military personnel is turned into a mob of killers…" Harrison said, trailing off as the horrible possibilities unfolded in his mind.

          "They could do a helluva lot of damage to Washington DC," Ironhorse finished for him.  He switched channels on the radio.  "Underwood," he barked.  "Get me General Wilson, now."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Wilson listened to the news, his jaw twitching in frustration.  There was a clear and present danger to the President, but he held out little hope of changing the man's mind about his attendance.

          "I'll see what I can do," he said.

          "I could use those extra troops, sir."

          "They're on the way."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The ceremonies began, the alien count up to twenty-seven.  The President's arrival was delayed, his compromise to allow them time to find as many of the aliens as they could.  And the creatures were spreading into the visitor population.

          Ironhorse knew they were waiting for the President before they acted.  Whatever they were up to, he was the key.  He paced along the cobblestone path, double-checking their monitors, housed in flags, flowers and the like leaning along the Wall.  Over the radio he listened to the movements of his troops, while in his mind he heard the distant echoes of other voices.

          The sun emerged from behind the cloud cover, turning the black granite into a bizarre mirror.  He watched the reflection of the crowd, but as he did their faces changed, becoming younger and more haunted.  He forced his eyes back to the real crowd.

          "Stavrakos, I'm goin' to need a diversion so we can sweep the crowd," Derriman's voice announced.  "Have Franklin swing the chopper across the far end."

          "Roger, Sarge, will do."

          It was slim, but Ironhorse knew they had to risk it.  There were too many people here, too many innocent civilians who had no idea they were in the middle of a war.  It wasn't fair, but there was nothing more they could do.  The chopper was equipped with heat sensors – a modification on the technology the border patrol and night warfare specialists used.  If they could locate targets from the air first, it would make it easier for the men on the ground.  With the whispers following him, Ironhorse headed back out into the crowd.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Where are we?" Blackwood asked, walking up to join Ironhorse, two Delta troopers falling into step behind them.

          "Count's up to forty-five.  The chopper sweep turned up more.  The President's arrived.  They're escorting him in now."

"Are we ready?"

          The black eyes flashed.  "For what, Harrison?  We still don't know what the hell they're planning."

          Blackwood leveled the colonel with a serious blue gaze.  "Then we'll just have to be ready for anything."

          Ironhorse knew Blackwood was right, but the frustration was high.  They had not taken out all of the aliens…  He listened to the body count rise.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse continued to scan the crowd as the President stepped up to the podium to speak.  His reception was mixed, applause mixing with boos from the assembled veterans and their supporters.  Nothing.  The body count was up to sixty-three.

          Seated in front of the panel where his men's names were listed, he forced himself not to look for the names he knew were there.  It was an accident of architectural karma, as Norton would call it.

          His jaw twitched.  It was wrong.  They had no right to trespass on this sacred ground.  It was an affront to the men and women whose names were carved on the panels.

          A movement in the crowd caught his attention, and Ironhorse sought it out.  There.  A man, fifty or so, six foot, about 190 pounds, graying hair, old field jacket and blue jeans.  _What's wrong with this picture?_ he wondered.  The man was making his way toward the front of the crowd.  He was wearing a hat with the black and yellow 1 st Air Cavalry patch…  Scanning the people… moving forward…

          _He's an alien_.  Ironhorse was certain, even if he didn't know why he knew.  Slipping off the podium and entering the throng of spectators, he made his way toward the target.  Dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, Ironhorse carried a briefcase with a silenced Glock mounted in the interior.  It wasn't accurate for a kill shot, but more than sufficient for wounding aliens.

          He watched the man still working his way toward the front of the crowd and maneuvered closer at an angle so he stayed in the guy's blind spot.  He merged into the front two rows.

           Ironhorse's jaw twitched.  If he had to take the man out here, there was no way he could avoid someone seeing the alien dissolve, but he couldn't endanger the President.  Damn, damn, damn…

          The Secret Service agents motioned the crowd back, and people complied, everyone except the target.  Ironhorse saw the man reach into the pockets of his field jacket, the dim sunlight reflected off the glass of the test tubes.  His finger tighten on the firing mechanism.  At this distance he would hit the Wall…

          The emerging sunlight flashed across the polished granite, and Paul could see the faces of the names staring back at him.  He blinked, forcing the images away.  Whatever was necessary…

          The test tubes dropped back into the pockets and the alien stepped back, fading into the throng.  Ironhorse shadowed the man, a cold sweat breaking out across his back.  He'd frozen.

Fighting the urge to wipe his sweating palms on his pants, the colonel watched a Secret Service agent moving up to say something to the target.  He couldn't hear their conversation, or get a good look at their lips for a possible word or three.

          He glanced at the Wall.  The faces were back, watching him.  Ironhorse could almost imagine them, trapped and angry behind the black stone, wanting to step out and stop the aliens themselves, but unable to do so…

          The agent nodded and moved away.  There was a good chance he was compromised.

          "I need backup," Ironhorse said into the lip mike.  "Check the Secret Service guy in the grey pinstripe and red tie."

          "Roger," was Coleman's confirmation in his ear.

          The target moved back into the crowd and Ironhorse silently prayed that he wouldn't have to fire on the Memorial…  He couldn't, but he'd have to, he had no choice.

          He glanced to his right, realizing that Coleman was moving with him.  Handing her the briefcase, he reached up and unhooked the flap over his tomahawk.  Most of the vets wore knives of some sort, so no one paid any attention to the weapon.

          The man continued to move away, Ironhorse and Coleman following until they could close in, the colonel using the tomahawk to take him out.  That done, he retrieved the briefcase and left Coleman on the cleanup and started back to the Memorial.

          "Affirmative on the Secret Service agent," someone announced.  "He is a boogy.  Repeat, a boogy."

          The colonel moved swiftly through the crowd, heading for the speaker's podium.  His finger tightened imperceptibly on the briefcases' firing mechanism.  "Peterson, Goodson, close on the President.  Be ready to move."

          "Roger," Goodson said.

          "Colonel, three more are down," Stavrakos said.

          "We have another three neutralized," another soldier reported.

          Reaching the front of the crowd as the President finished his speech and stepped back, Ironhorse spotted the agent heading toward the man.  "Heads up," he said.  "It's going down."

          Goodson and Peterson stood behind the President.  Ironhorse closed on the compromised agent, the buzz of past voices ringing in his ears.  He saw the two Omegans turn attacking two other agents and carrying them behind the stand, out of sight of the spectators.  Still, the crowd stirred, aware that something was up, but not knowing what.

          "Freeze," Ironhorse growled at the agent, who spun to face him, the test tubes in his hands.

          The colonel heard the distant wop of chopper blades, and the dull explosions of artillery.  He raised the case.  "Put those down," he commanded.

          His finger tightened, but refused to fire.  The alien looked panicked, his head swiveling, looking for his accomplices, but there were none.  "You cannot stop me, human," it growled back.

Beyond the alien he could see the ghosts of the names, clamoring against the stone, fighting to break free and envelop the invader.

          "Put them _down_."

          The agent stepped back, almost brushing against the Wall.  "I cannot fail."

          Other agents and the soldiers moved the crowd back.  Fists beat against the polished stone.  "You have failed."

          The alien raised the test tubes, intent on smashing them onto the cobblestone path.  Before he could think, Ironhorse dropped the briefcase and grabbed the tomahawk, pulling it and throwing it all in one move.  The blade embedded itself in the agent's forehead, and he fell to his knees.

          The colonel lunged for the test tubes, grabbing one before it fell, another man grabbing the other.  The agent tipped over and began to dissolve.  Ironhorse looked up, finding Harrison.  "Thank you."

          He nodded.  "You're welcome."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Do you think it's over?" Harrison asked, watching the people as they approached the Wall, looking for names, rubbing traces of them, and leaving mementoes behind.

          "I hope so.  We haven't located any more aliens in the last two hours, and the President is back in the White House."  Ironhorse drew a deep breath, his eyes never leaving the Wall.  The images had faded, returning to the darkness, and he felt a certain emptiness.

          "Paul?"

          He turned.  "Patrice?" he said, his eyes falling to the young boy standing at her side.  He looked to be about four.[1]

          The pretty black woman smiled, her hand moving to rest on the child's shoulder.  "It's good to see you, Colonel," she said.  "Paul Gordon, this is Colonel Ironhorse.  He knew your daddy."  The child's eyes widened.

          Ironhorse stepped closer, giving the woman a brief hug, then knelt on one knee in front of the boy.

          "You knew my daddy?"

          "Yes," Paul said softly.  "He saved my life."

          "My daddy was a hero," Paul Gordon said solemnly.

          Ironhorse felt his throat tighten.  "Yes, he was.  Don't ever forget that.  And I know he would have been very, very proud of you."  The boy stuck out his hand, and Ironhorse shook it.  He looked up at Patrice.  "Are you here for long?"

          She shook her head.  "Just today.  I have to get back to work, but I wanted to come.  I think Gordon would have wanted me to, and I wanted Paul Gordon to see the Wall."

          Ironhorse nodded.  "I'm staying at the Ambassador, if you have time this evening?"

          "We'll see," she said.  Taking the boy's hand she smiled at Ironhorse, saying, "Come on, sweetheart."

Ironhorse and Harrison watched the pair make their way down to the Memorial.

          "Who was that?" Blackwood asked.

          "An old friend."

          Harrison studied the colonel's closed expression.  He wasn't going to get any more out of him.  He looked back at the Wall, wishing he could see in it what Ironhorse did.  He saw the black eyes narrow, the face going slightly pale.

          "Tim?" was the strangled whisper.

          Before Blackwood could ask, the colonel bolted, jogging across the grass toward man walking with the aid of a cane.  The stranger was small, shy of six foot by several inches, and rail thin.  His blond hair was well mixed with silver.  Ironhorse came to a stop several feet away, Blackwood behind him, giving the colonel his privacy.

          "Tim?"

          The man looked up, meeting the colonel's gaze.  His eyes widened in shock.  "Captain?"  Dropping his cane, Tim took two shaky steps and wrapped his arms around Ironhorse, pounding on his back and laughing.  "Christ almighty!  I thought you were dead!"

          The colonel set the man back, then bent down and retrieved the cane, handing it back to Tim.  "I know the feeling.  What the hell happened?"

          Blackwood stepped up, clapping Ironhorse on the back.  "I'm going to go see how Suzanne's doing."

          Paul nodded, more than half-distracted.  "Right…  Take an escort."

          Harrison left, occasionally looking back over his shoulder at Ironhorse and the man.  He stopped, the two soldiers pausing to wait.  Looking from the two men to the Wall and back, he felt an odd anger rumble through him.  The monument held some kind of power over them, a power it could not exercise on Blackwood, and it made him… uncomfortable.

          Turning back to the soldier, he left, knowing that he would be back to the Memorial at least once more before they left.  He had his own ghosts to lay to rest.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Paul walked along with Tim, his hand resting lightly on the man's shoulder.  "When they didn't release you with the rest of us, I thought it was just another… punishment.  I was so sure they'd kill you and the others."

          Tim shook his head.  "They let us go the next day."  He shook his head.  "It was just another psychological game."  They paused.  "The truck that was carrying us out hit a mine.  It shattered my hip… damn near lost the leg.  By the time I was awake and thinking again, all I wanted to do was put the war behind me."

          Ironhorse nodded.  "I understand."

          "I didn't come for the dedication in '82," he said.  "I was still too angry, but this time..."

"I'm glad you did."

          Tim looked up, his eyes bright.  "Me, too."  He looked away.  "Did any of the guys make it?"

          Ironhorse knew exactly what he was asking.  Did any of the men who had escaped to carry their names to the authorities live?  He directed Tim to the Wall.  Reaching out, he let his fingers run over seven names, ending with Craig A. Windjoy.

          "At least one of them reached our guys, or they wouldn't have had our names on the list," he said.

          Tim reached out, tracing the names as well.  "Thank you," he whispered, his voice catching.  He pressed his palm against the cold stone, the tears running down his face.

          Ironhorse let his arm slip around the man's shoulders.  Tim Green, draftee, medic.  The man who had saved Ironhorse's life, more times than he could count in the POW camp.  A fellow survivor.  A friend.  He had fought his war…

          Paul looked around, wondering if any of the people surrounding him was an alien.  He was still fighting his war, but one day it would be over, and they would be the victors.[2]

  


* * *

[1]  See the story "Best Man" in this issue.

[2]  Continues in "Beyond the Looking Glass" 


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